Liam Davis & The Raven

by Anyta Sunday

“Yes, you were.” I let go of the car and slowly backed away. “But we started over. If you want to move in, come over tomorrow afternoon and we can sort it out.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Saturday morning, my daily newspaper reading was interrupted by a blaring horn outside my apartment. I peeked out my window. The top of a white van reflecting the morning sun assaulted my eyes. The horn hooted again, definitely coming from this offending vehicle. I shoved my feet into a pair of unlaced gray shoes, grabbed my keys, shut the door and jogged downstairs.

  “Some people are trying to read here,” I muttered as I stormed over the small patch of grass to the van.

  Three feet from the ruckus-maker, I recognized him. Hunter. One of his hands reached out the open window and clutched the top of the car. He tapped his horn again, lighter this time and with an acknowledging jerk of his head.

  “Liam!” he yelled through the open passenger window. “Finally. Get your butt in here. We’re on a mission.”

  “What are you doing here?” I said, tripping over my laces as I stepped to the car and opened the door.

  “I told you already. We’re going on a mission.” He palmed the passenger seat with a healthy leather slap. “Jump in.”

  “Isn’t it considered polite to call first?”

  Hunter snorted. “I didn’t have your number. Told Sullivan I lost the directions to your place and he happily gave ’em to me.”

  “You spoke to Quinn?” My interest in hearing his name was more piqued than it should have been. It might be something to analyze later. I’d see.

  I shook Quinn from my thoughts and concentrated on Hunter. “You can’t expect me to just go with you. I could be busy.”

  “Are you?”

  “I was reading the Post-Gazette, as a matter of fact.”

  “That’ll be there later. Now, ass in seat. Don’t make me reach over there and drag your sorry weight in here.”

  I glanced to his legs. “Could you actually do that?”

  Hunter lifted his T-shirt, tucking the end under his chin, and beefed up his arms. A small blue bird seemed to be flying over the guy’s well-toned abdomen. I studied his impressive display of muscle, then chuckled at his cocky smirk and glinting eyes. “Trust me, I can pull a lot with this.”

  He leaned over the chair and grabbed a fistful of my navy T-shirt. I didn’t need any more convincing. I hopped into the van and strapped up.

  With a laugh, he righted himself in his seat, and started the van. “Now give me directions.”

  “Me? I’ve no idea where we’re going.”

  “To Mitch’s, of course.”

  “The guy you were flirting with at the coffee shop?” The guy whose street was the venue for my attack?

  “I haven’t been able to get him out of my mind all week.” Hunter waggled his eyes, pulled down on his hand controls, and accelerated out of the parking spot. “I decided it’s time for a little serendipity.”

  I frowned, bracing myself against the leather seat as Hunter careened around a corner. Freddy Krueger won’t be there now. Maybe the place will jog your memory of The Raven. “You do know serendipity means something pleasant happening by accident, don’t you?”

  “Nah, you’re wrong, man,” Hunter said, looking over at a four-way and gesturing toward all options until I pointed left. “Serendipity means good luck, and I don’t believe you just wait around for it, I think it comes to those who seek it.” He shrugged and amended with a twitch of his lips, “in this case, stalk it.”

  He glanced over at me still clutching the seat; it was my nerves more than his driving—though only just in that order. “Where to now?”

  “Just up here to the right. 512.”

  Hunter made a U-turn and squeezed into a tight parking spot opposite the house. He rubbed his hands together. “Right, let the luck begin.”

  The way he’d parked, I was in full view of Mitch’s house and the lamppost under which . . . my ribs hurt just thinking about it. I sat on my shaking hands. Hunter didn’t know all the details of that night; he was only here for the cute guy I’d delivered home. I focused on Hunter instead of the scenery outside my open window. “What’s the plan now? Are you going to knock on his front door?”

  “Hell no! That’d be a bit creepy. I don’t want to give him the wrong idea about me.”

  I pointedly looked around the van and inclined my head toward Mitch’s apartment across the road. “So what’s the right idea about you?”

  He laughed and whacked me over the back of the head. “Hey, there’s snacks and warm Coke in the glove box. Help yourself.”

  “Seriously, what is your brilliant, serendipitous plan?”

  “Say that five times in a row.” Hunter twisted toward me and the view of 512. “The plan is whenever Mitch shows up, I get out of the car and go over to him. All going well, he’ll land right in my lap and we’ll wheel off into the friggin’ sunset.”

  It didn’t sound like the slyest plan, and there was the whole matter of how quickly he’d be able to move once Mitch did show up—but whatever gave Hunter his luck.

  “What’s the part of the plan that involves me?” I asked, pulling off my glasses and cleaning them with my shirt. It kept the surroundings comfortably blurry for a few moments.

  “You’re the entertainment. Who knows how long we’re going to be here?”

  “I barely got three lines of work in last night,” I said, thinking about how I’d fallen asleep with the laptop on and woken up to a string of aaaaaaaa’s where a Roaring Twenties party-description should have been.

  I slipped my glasses back on and rested my head back against the headrest. Staring at the ceiling, I planned out my column. I really should be spending the day working on that and my English Lit readings instead of lollygagging here, where I’d been attacked—

  And saved!

  It was the saving part that had me glancing out of the window again. The grass, the air, the silhouette of a hooded figure had all bled into shades of blue.

  This week I’d go back to the Scribe archives to see if I could find more on the mysterious hood. Maybe I’d overlooked something important.

  I peeked at Hunter, who sat gripping the wheel, hunched forward to get the best view of the old Victorian apartment and anyone coming or going out of it.

  I grabbed a Coke from the glove box and cracked it open. It sprayed over my face and the sticky liquid trickled down my neck.

  Hunter snorted. “Good one. You’re a funny guy, Liam.”

  I put the Coke between my legs to wipe my glasses a second time. “Funny? I like it.”

  He laughed harder and gestured for the Coke. I passed it to him, and he took a large gulp.

  “Give me my camera,” Hunter said, and rested the Coke can in the drink holder. “It’s behind my seat.”

  I reached over and brought out the professional-looking monster. Hunter unzipped the bag and drew out the camera.

  “Okay, now this feels like a stalk out,” I said, shrinking lower in my seat.

  “Stake out?” he said, clicking through pictures on the digital screen.

  “No, definitely stalk out. This is feeling more and more illegal by the minute.”

  He passed me the camera. “Take a look. I think it’s a good shot.”

  I stared at my face on the screen, taken at the party where we’d first met. Hunter truly was gifted, this was . . . a great shot. “I look good.”

  “Yeah, you do. Quinn thought so too.”

  He did? Awkward. What to say to that?

  My mother’s somewhat questionable advice came to mind: When in doubt, deflect. So I did. “And, um, what did your sister think?”

  Hunter’s gaze sharpened on me for a while, as if he was trying to understand something.

  I lifted my brow quizzically.

  “I don’t get you.”

  “What don’t you get?”

  “A lot of things.”

  “Then ask me. Sometimes it’s the best way to get the answers you’re look
ing for.”

  “That so?”

  I nodded. “For example,” I said, “what happened to your legs?”

  Hunter looked at his lap and back to me again. “Some guy beat me up on the school quad after basketball practice one night because I like dick. Bad stroke of the bat left me paralyzed from the waist down. Are you gay?”

  “Since I’ve only ever been with women, I’d say not. Did you catch the guy who did it?”

  “No. That was the hardest on my family. There was no one to place the blame on, no name to be angry at, to take to court, to send to prison.” He shrugged and went back to staring through the window.

  I glanced at the stretch of path I’d been kicked on. How lucky I’d been for The Raven. What might have happened if he hadn’t turned up? I shuddered as Hunter cleared his throat.

  “Are you involved with anyone?”

  It was strange to share such personal details, but it was somewhat refreshing too. “There’s a girl at work who’d like to go out on a date. I’m still undecided.”

  “Does she hit all the right buttons?” He swerved a gaze toward my crotch and winked.

  “I really don’t know yet. She’s smart enough, and kind . . .”

  “But?”

  “But we work together. It could get uncomfortable if things don’t work out.” I shrugged. “In the girl department, things don’t usually work out. It’s not their fault. I’m . . . I guess you could say . . . more work-focused.” Just thinking of work gave me a little thrill. I really couldn’t wait to get back to it.

  “How are you so confident?” I asked, glancing at Hunter’s legs. “So positive?”

  Hunter gripped the steering wheel. A rush of warm wind funneled through the car. “It’s true. I could be a miserable prick and I’d have some right to be. People would forgive me for it too, for a while. But why would I want that? You’ve only got one life, and I want to make the most of mine. I’m not saying sometimes life doesn’t fucking suck, but I choose to focus on good stuff. That’s the guy I want to be.”

  I glanced up in time to catch his wink.

  “Any other questions you got there, Liam?”

  Actually, I had quite a few. In fact, I’d even written some down a few nights ago in my notebook. I lifted myself just enough off the chair to reach my pocket. “Yes.”

  “Holy shit. Quinn wasn’t joking. I’ve heard of this infamous notebook. This should be interesting. Fire away.”

  I leafed to the back where I’d jotted down a few curiosities. “Okay,” I said. “I have some personal questions that I’m curious about. I’ll list them, but you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

  “You want to know how I go to the bathroom, right?” he said, lifting his brows. “And whether my junk still works.”

  In fact, those were two of my questions, though I’d have phrased them differently. “Yes.”

  “Well, I have a catheter.” He pointed toward his leg. “A leg bag. I presume you know how that works?”

  I nodded. “Do you always wear it?”

  “I can go a few hours without, but yeah, I wear it most of the time.” He watched carefully for my reaction which, other than a brief wince, wasn’t much of one. I certainly didn’t envy his position, but I understood it.

  “As for the other stuff, I have a pretty good routine, but sometimes—once or twice a year—I have an accident.” He shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal, and I didn’t think it was either, but Hunter stiffened and a light blush touched his cheeks. “But that’s just life. I know how to deal with it.”

  “Sure. And what about intercourse?”

  Hunter chuckled. “Paraplegics can still have sex. I do, and I really enjoy it.” He curled his muscles again. “I’m strong, and other than doing it standing, I can pretty much fuck how I want. Using the chair can make things rather adventurous, too. And—because I know you’re wondering—I have my orgasm in the mind. Smelling, kissing, touching, watching a guy come undone . . . you have no idea how much that attracts me.”

  I wrote down his answer, tracing over it with my pen.

  These topics needed to be talked about more openly. It would have made a fascinating article for Scribe. Could have been my end-of-semester feature, except that Quinn made it clear he didn’t like me using him or his friends as angles for my stories.

  “Thank you for sharing. I didn’t know much about any of this.”

  Hunter nodded and glanced toward the street, running a hand through his hair to spike it up. “Sure.”

  I stared at one of my other questions and licked my dry lips before I asked it. “You’ve known Quinn a long time, right? Were you and he ever together?”

  Hunter cocked his head and studied me, a whisper of a smile nudging the corner of his lips. “When did you come up with that question? Never mind—no. Quinn and I were friends, he was the first guy I came out to, but we were never attracted to each other like that.”

  I ticked off the question with a larger-than-usual stroke of my pen—

  Tap-tap-tap.

  I jerked at the tapping on my car door at the same time Hunter cracked into a smile.

  “So much for our suave stalking,” he said under his breath. “He found us first.”

  Mitch rested his arms on the car window sill and sent us a puzzled look. A dark yellow T-shirt clung tightly to his chest, and coppery hair glinted golden red in the sun.

  “I saw you guys,” he said, a touch nervously, keeping his eyes on Hunter. “What are you doing around here?”

  I deferred the question to Hunter, and pressed myself further back into the seat so they could see each other better. Probably now was a good time to think of an excuse and slip out of the car, leaving Hunter and Mitch to their serendipity.

  “I was hoping to run into you,” Hunter said, “but I guess this will have to do.”

  Mitch’s cheeks flushed. “Sorry?”

  “Look,” Hunter said with less confidence in his voice, but with a smile on his face. “I’m just going to put this out there, and you can tell me what you think. You’re hella cute, Mitch, and I’d love to go for coffee with you sometime.”

  I chose then to interrupt, because I really shouldn’t have been in the middle of this moment. “Excuse me, Mitch,” I said, opening the door and slipping out. “I have the Post-Gazette to read. So I’m going to leave.”

  “That wasn’t subtle at all!” Hunter cried out with a laugh to my back, and Mitch chuckled too.

  I waved it off and trudged over the road as Mitch clambered into the front seat and shyly asked if they could do coffee right now. Hunter’s van rumbled to life, and a few moments later, they were off. I was left staring at the stretch of grass where the campus vigilante had saved me.

  CHAPTER 6

  Quinn showed up shortly past five, his hair still wet from showering. He toed off his shoes and dumped his sports bag at the front door, eyeing me with a look that made me think perhaps I wasn’t standing straight enough, that made me wonder if something was hanging out of my nose. Casually, I swiped my face and rolled my shoulders back into better posture.

  Having a roommate makes all kinds of sense. I rarely used my study anyway, preferring to work on the couch or my bed, and, well . . . in case I did die in my apartment, someone would know about it. Someone who could scream a little louder than a cat, anyway.

  I dug my hands into the pockets of my dark gray slacks and fiddled with my pen as Quinn strolled into the room toward me. The lump that rose in my throat took a few swallows to get down.

  “This is the place.” I pointed toward the study Quinn had eyed the last time he was here.

  For a moment it could have been that night all over again, with the way he charged over to the door and stuck his head inside.

  “You’d really still want to live with me?” he asked, sneaking a look at me from the corner of his eye. “You’re not kidding?”

  “Why would I joke?”

  Snorting, he moved over an inch so we could both fit in
the doorway. “Yes, why indeed.” Without warning, Quinn slung his arm over my shoulders and crushed me closer to his side. “So, roomies then? You going to be good with that?”

  “If you cut down on the deodorant,” I said, prying myself free, “we’ll be great.”

  Quinn laughed. “Can I get a glass of water? I’m still parched from class.”

  “Class?” I asked as I headed for the kitchen. “On Saturday?”

  “Shannon and I run self-defense classes at the rec center.”

  I perked up at that. Since my unanticipated meeting with Freddy, I’d been thinking that maybe I should learn some self-defense. “Might be a good idea to take one of them,” I said, pulling out a fresh glass from the cupboard.

  Quinn leaned against the opposite side of the kitchen island and flicked through the pile of party flyers I had collected over the weeks. “You should come along to one, then.”

  “I’ll check my schedule, but yes, that would be good.”

  As I turned on the tap and filled Quinn’s glass, he blurted, “You don’t mind I’m gay?”

  I glanced at him over my shoulder and turned off the tap. Facing him, I leaned back against the sink. “Why should I?”

  He looked at me, the frown on his brow slow to disappear. “All right. Just don’t want you freaking out when you see a guy leave from my room, that’s all.”

  I swapped the hand holding his glass and wiped my wet palm over the leg of my pants. “If I were to ‘freak out’ as you call it, I’d probably be doing that while he’s in the room. The walls are thin. But, rest assured, Quinn Sullivan, I’m too busy to care about your shenanigans. As long as the wall stays up, you’re all good.”

  “All good, huh?” For the confident guy he was, he sounded quite relieved. “How much do you want for the room?”

  I lifted the glass and drank. By the time I remembered it was meant to be his, I’d already finished it, a few drops of water beading at the corners of my mouth.

  Giving him a sheepish smile over the edge of the rim, I put the glass in the sink and filled up a fresh one. “Sorry. You’ll probably have to get used to that. I get sidetracked with a thought and, yes, well . . . I’m also a little on the clumsy side.”